Vicious Cabaret
by QuiaVeritatis
Summary: Exploration of the Graphic Novel chapter The Vanishing
1. Chapter 1

Vicious Cabaret: Part One

Rated G:

Which V: Graphic Novel V. Sadly, we do not see V play his piano in the film.

Disclaimer: Characters property of Moore, Lloyd, and WB

A glance into the character of our favorite Dramatis Persona

* * *

Evey startled as the first chord sounded. It was muffled, as her door was closed, but the dramatic crash resonated throughout the Shadow Gallery. She could not help but hear it. The chord was followed by a swift arpeggio up and down the keys. Up and down up and down, faster and faster. He was playing scales, yes, but with a fury like she had never heard before. She pushed back her chair and set her bookmark in the book she had been reading. She could not read. Not with those sounds coming from the baby grand.

She tiptoed to the door. Normally it was kept open, but an hour ago V had quietly swept past, and with a tiny click had closed it. He had not locked it, just closed it. She had listened to the sound of his footsteps moving away from the door. He had not told her why, and it seemed stupid to open a door he had closed merely to ask him why he had closed it. The last thing Evey wanted to do was appear stupid to him. She pressed an ear to the crack. He had finished the scales. Now he was playing something vaguely familiar to her. It had been so long since she had heard piano music. She thought back to her childhood. Yes. She remembered this. Her father played classical music on the stereo while he typed. This one, what was it called? It was so sad. Pathetique. That was it. That must be the saddest piece of music ever written. It was so beautiful. Each note was being touched so lovingly. She wanted to open the door. She wanted to hear it better, louder, without the muffle. She wanted to hear it resounding off the ceiling. The acoustics in the Shadow Gallery were fabulous.

But he had shut her door.

Why? Evey sighed. Ever since she had come to live in the Gallery with him, she had been trying to understand him. She tried to fit him into one of the forms she knew: teacher, father, supervisor, brother…friend, maybe even…lover. But he evaded all attempts at categorization. One day he was her teacher, the next he would play with her, once making a rabbit disappear while doing magic tricks. He would read her stories from his books, doing all the voices so comically she laughed so hard she cried. But then the next day it would be like this. A closed door and silence. Was he angry with her?

The music stopped. Evey pressed her ear harder into the crack. Was he finished? No. Another song. This one different, the sound was rough, almost brutal. And what? V was singing! Evey shook her head to clear it and then pressed her ear back to the crack. Yes. It was true. He was singing. He has a lovely baritone, she thought. She held her breath. It was no use. She couldn't make out the words. He wasn't singing loudly enough to overcome the sound of the piano. She didn't like this song. It didn't sound lovely, or sad or beautiful. It sounded angry and bitter. She frowned.

Why would he shut her door? She thought hard. In the few weeks she had been here she had learned very quickly how different this life was from her old one. Here in the Gallery she felt safe. V took care of her. She would never have to go back to the munitions factory again. He fed her, she watched his telly. But her responsibility was to learn. That's what he told her. Learn. She had to make up for the years in reclamation. She was trying. He gave her Ivanhoe and Dickens. She had read them, and she enjoyed talking about them at table while she ate. He never ate with her, just sat across the table listening, asking her questions about the plot or the characters. Reading was easy. But she had learned that reading him would never be.

Now the music stopped. She waited. Would he play another song? She tried to imagine him at the piano. She had seen him sit down to it only once before. She remembered that she had run across the room to him, eager to hear what he would play. Perhaps that is what's wrong, she thought. That time. That time he had jumped ever so slightly as she came up to him. He had stared at her without speaking for a few breathless moments before extending a gloved hand to the piano and slowing pulling the cover back over the keys. Then he got up and left. Yes. He doesn't want her there when he plays. Maybe has to take the gloves off to play.

And then there was the time she wanted to play with it. Not play it, she could not manage more than Chopsticks, but its smooth presence in the Gallery was irresistible. She had to touch it to hear it speak. She remembered sitting down on the bench, and reaching to push the cover back.

Evey leaned against the door jamb as this memory stabbed at her.

V had been across the room, doing something with the sculpture, dusting maybe. When she sat down she saw him spin around as she touched the bench. He had spun around so fast that his hair flew behind him and the mask flashed white in the lights. Then he froze, staring directly at her. She froze too. He did not speak, but the way he stood, not moving, stiff…it frightened her. The mask did not seem to be smiling so friendly now. He didn't ask her to get up. He didn't tell her not to touch the instrument. But she knew. She just knew. Very slowly she had stood up and backed away. As soon as he saw her move he had relaxed. After she pushed the bench underneath the piano, he had turned back to his dusting.

Evey was learning.

There was no more music. Footsteps approached the door. There was a click and her door opened a few inches. He was there. She looked up as the door opened wider.

"Hello, Evey. Would you like to dance?"


	2. Chapter 2

Vicious Cabaret

Rated PG for adult themes

Which V?: Graphic Novel V. He would never wear a pinny.

Disclaimer: Characters property of Moore, Lloyd, and WB

Evey probes a little further under V's skin

* * *

Evey pulled the door all the way open, so it touched the wall behind. She didn't like it shut. This would be her way of telling him that. She was learning V-speak very well. Maybe not fluently yet, but given time, certainly. 

"Dance, Evey?" He repeated.

"Yes. I would love to dance." Evey took the proffered glove and he escorted her through the door to the Shadow Gallery. He spun her gently into his arms, touching her on the waist and holding her tiny hand in his big one. Evey allowed him to place her where he wanted her, following his lead. He had chosen a waltz. A slow one. She had heard it before but did not know the name. Dancing was the closest he let her come to him, but still he held her at arm's length. Just the two touch points: hands and hips. He was electric where he touched her. She wanted to touch more of him, but he moved away as she sidled closer. _Yes, he had hugged me the first day I came_, had held her and wiped her eyes like she was a child. But I'm not a child, she thought as he twirled her out and brought her back to him. _Maybe he thinks I'm a baby. Because I cry so much. Maybe he's, like, fifty years old or something. Then he'd be like a pervert to want me in that way. Like the bishop was_. Evey stumbled; V lifted her back into the dance pattern without missing a beat. _He murders perverts, so he can't be one, right?_ She tripped. V stopped the waltz, a finger silenced the Wurlitzer.

"What's wrong, Evey?"

_Oh god. He's caught me_. Evey looked up at the mask above her head. He had to bend his head to look down at her when she was this close to him. His long hair fell forward over his shoulders. She resisted the urge to touch it. _Shall I tell him? Shall I ask? No_.

"I'm sorry. I can't concentrate."

"That's all right if you don't want to dance right now. Would you like some tea? Do you want to do something else? Watch the telly?"

"No. I want to dance. Maybe just something simpler."

"Simpler than a waltz?"

Evey put her hand to her face. _Damn. Now I look stupid. The very thing I was desperately trying to avoid. _He took her hand away, the Wurlitzer started up again. This time he selected a torch song from the 1940's. He led her around him with a gentle pull, just swaying in circles.

"Is this better?" he murmured.

"Yes. This is fine." Evey looked away. "V?"

"Hmmm?"

"I….want to thank you for taking me in like you did."

"You've thanked me before."

"I know, but not enough."

"Once is enough, Eve."

"No. Everything is so different now. You've changed my life. Before, I was just existing. Not really living. But now. It's like I was asleep and you woke me up."

"Is that what it feels like to you?"

"Yes. Like I'm awake now."

"Hmmmm…I like your imagery. I think I like the idea of being the Awakener. Perhaps I shall awaken other sleepers."

"Who?" Evey felt a flash of jealousy. Was he keeping other young women in the Shadow Gallery? He laughed and she felt her face burn.

"There are many who are asleep. Many are dreaming, not realizing they are sleeping. Some may wake up briefly; perhaps they look around and not like what they see then fall back into the safety of dreamland. But it is an illusion, Evey. I think many people would not welcome me as the disturber of their dreams. When awake and conscious they must now act, or make a decision not to act. Either way a painful event for some. There is nothing like a loud noise to disturb the sleep." He chuckled.

"I see," she said, but she didn't.

"Then tell me, Evey. What about those sleepers who refuse to awaken? Shall we let them lie? Shall we tiptoe past them?" he spun her, pulled her around into a waltz again as the music changed. "Or is it cruel to wake them when they would rather sleep their whole lives away?"

This must be a trick question. Evey hesitated as long as possible before answering. _He is testing me. I must not get it wrong. He will think I am stupid, and I'm not. Just confused. There is a difference_. She put a thoughtful expression on her face, the better to hide her uncertainty. _What do I think? Should the sleepers be awakened? Even if it hurts them? Even if they don't want it? What right would I have to interfere in the lives of strangers?_

But it is precisely the sleepers who have allowed Norsefire to come to power. The sleepers have ruined everything for those who are awake. There are more sleeping people than conscious ones, she realized. If those awake never bother to disturb the slumber of their brothers, the world would never change. There needs to be strength, not in unity and faith, but in the aware multitude. She took a shaky breath, hoping the answer would please him.

"Yes. The sleepers must be awakened, even if they would rather sleep."

"Even if it seems cruel to destroy their happiness?"

"They only think they are happy. They aren't."

His response was a low rumble in his throat. He whirled her about him. This time she kept her feet, and thrilled as he laid her low in a dip. _He is so strong_. She felt so safe. She knew he would not let her fall. He brought her back up and whirled her around him.

_I could be happy here. Just books, music, the telly, dancing. I could stay here for years without wanting to go anywhere else. Yes, maybe I will miss being outside, but with all the smog and litter and noise the city was no longer exciting_. Only gritty and dangerous. This is much better. Peace, art, literature…and V. I could stay here forever. She looked up at him, allowing him see the love and happiness in her eyes.

She moved closer, pressing her breasts against his body. An invitation. This time he did not move fast enough to avoid contact. He had to stop dancing or trip on her feet. She hugged him, enjoying full body contact for the first time. Pressed to him, holding him, feeling love and gratitude, she sighed, closed her eyes, he was so tall, so strong. She slid one hand down the small of his back letting it come to a rest on the curve just below his hips. This was Evey-speak. She hoped he understood. Her cheek rested right over his heart which was beating fast and loud.

Then pain. Each glove was like a vice on her wrists. The Wurlitzer clicked off.


	3. Chapter 3

Vicious Cabaret: Part Three--finis

Rated PG13 for creepiness

Which V: Graphic Novel V. Darker, twisted and deep deep deep

Disclaimer: Characters property of Moore, Lloyd, and WB

Evey goes too far. She looks into the abyss and the abyss looks back.

* * *

He pushed her away from him, then released her wrists. Evey felt like she had been struck. "Oh, no. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please." Evey reached for his hands, took them in hers. "Please don't be angry."

The mask moved above her, but he did not answer.

Evey could not tell what he has thinking. She squeezed his hands. "I just thought…I didn't know it was wrong, I just thought, you might, you know…fancy me."

There was still no answer, but his breathing had changed. Evey listened to him inhale, then exhale. _He is upset_. She felt tears come to her eyes. _After all I tried to do, to do everything right, now I've screwed up so bad. Now he is angry with me_. Her thoughts whirled like the waltz. _Maybe he has a girlfriend already_. She tilted her chin up. She made a false smile. "I understand if there's someone else. If, you know, you have someone…I mean…" She was waiting for a reaction from him, to see if she had got it right this time. _No_. He was like a statue. She tried again. "Or maybe, you don't like girls…Not that there's anything wrong with that," she added hastily, vaguely aware that she was making things worse. "Or maybe you can't…"

He reacted that time. He whipped his hands from hers and spun on his heel. He walked away, loudly. _That means he's mad_, Evey thought. V-speak. _He speaks with his boots and that mask_. She wiped her eyes with the palm of her hand. _Time to be a grown-up. Time to take responsibility. I did this, I will fix it._

"V" she called to him before he could leave the room. "V, wait."

But he did not leave the room. He opened a drawer in the make-up table and came right back to her, something small in his hand. "Come here. Evey. I want to show you something." His voice was dark. What? That was a blindfold in his hand, a sleep mask, the kind people wear when they are sleeping and don't want the light in their eyes. _How can you show somebody something with a blindfold? This must be another one of those lessons. Another test._ Evey sighed. _Always teaching me something, just like my…Oh no._ She looked up from the blindfold to the dark eye slits. _Could it be_?

"V?" she held her breath, then released it, "or maybe it's that you're my…"

"Father?" He finished the question for her.

"No, you can't be…are you?" Evey felt totally confused.

"Come with me , Evey. He said in lieu of an answer.

Evey allowed him to tie the blindfold over her eyes. In the darkness she stumbled on the flagstones as her led her away. Somewhere. She heard the sounds of their footsteps echo as they passed out of the grand gallery and onto a smaller passage, then what felt like a lift. They were going up. "V?" she asked, but he did not speak. She could hear him breathing, though. _He is still upset_.

"V? I'm sorry if I made you mad. I…just was feeling, well, grateful I guess. I wanted you to know how I felt. I guess I should have done it differently, maybe just talked to you about it."

Still no response. Evey tried another tack. "Can you tell me where we are going? Is there another part of the Gallery? Does it have more art in it? More books? Maybe more music? Are you going to show me.." she felt a cool breeze on her face_. Fresh air_? It had been some weeks since she had felt fresh air. It was damp, maybe it had been raining. She put her hand out in front of her, felt nothing, V's hand on hers felt different. She stopped and he stopped too. She could no longer hear him breathe. Why? "V?"

"I am not your father, Evey. Your father is dead." His voice sounded remote, strange.

"Oh!" _That_ _is so hurtful! Why would he say it like that? So cold. So hard. Like a slap_. She knew he must not be her father. She knew it. Her father had not been so tall, and he could not play the piano. It was only a flash of an idea. A false hope. Something that meant she had not really accepted her father's death, her own orphanhood. An orphan. That's how she felt. Abandoned by everyone. _Except V. He took me in. He is going to care for me. But now, now he is playing cruel tricks on me. Vicious ones._

"V?" No answer, no sounds but the drip drip drip of water somewhere. "I don't think this is funny! I'm going to take off the blindfold!" she threatened. Still no answer. _Well, this has all gone wrong and I'm not going to play with you anymore. I'm not your toy. I can make a decision for myself. _Evey reached behind her head for the strings of the blindfold and pulled them apart.

At first the light was too bright, but then she could see. She was in an alley. Outside. Somewhere. A clothes tree with an empty mask and a limp cape stood silently beside her. In her hand, an empty glove. Above her the sky began to rain.


	4. Chapter 4

All Three parts of Vicious Cabaret now from V's Point Of View.

I curtsey to John Fowles and "The Collector"

Vicious Cabaret: Part One, VPOV

Rated G

Which V? Graphic Novel V _Now with added emo._

Disclaimer: Characters property of Moore, Lloyd and WB

A glance into the character of our favorite Dramatis Persona

* * *

V picks up the kid gloves, smoothes out each finger. _Yes_. He needs to think tonight, and to think he needs to play, and to play he needs these gloves. He sets the gloves down and pulls at each finger of the heavier glove he was wearing. These are too thick, too stiff. The big glove slides off, now the supple kid slides over his fingers, then his knuckles, he tugs it hard over his wrist, making sure each finger settles firmly into its sheath. Now the other hand. Putting on these special gloves calms him. Already he can feel his breathing slow; his heartbeat modulating. _My body responds automatically to this stimulus, he muses. But there is a problem tonight._ He moves his head until the mask brings his bedroom door into view.

_Evey. She must not interrupt_. He shudders as he smoothes the soft suede over the back of each hand. The last time…the memory pains him…she had come running, shouting, laughing…while he was profoundly in the throes of the music. It was like being deep underwater and being yanked straight up, bubbles bursting, the pain. He winces. _It must not happen again. I will close the door._ Silently he moves to the door, peers into his bedroom. She is sitting with her back to the door, reading at his little desk. The lamp makes her hair shine gold in the dusky room. He reaches a gloved finger to the knob and pulls it closed, delicately, so the click will not startle her.

Little Evey. He sighs. _I must get used to her being here. She is a bright child. She is learning so quickly. But can she understand?_ He stands there a long time, thinking. He can not let her go back now. _Yet, it is wrong to keep her_. The Shadow Gallery is not a nursery. _I have things to do…and soon? In a few short months I will be gone. What will she do? Where will she go then? When I am dead?_ He looks around the gallery. _If this is her home, could she defend it? Keep it? Learn to be a caretaker? Will she ever understand it? Understand me? How quickly can she learn?_

_I need to think, to make music_.

He tilts his head. The piano calls to him. _Yes. She calls to me_. He slides onto the bench, caressing her polished wood, curving his gloved fingers over the case. He leans forward to lift the cover, sits back to touch her keys. _Yes_. He murmurs to her, "Speak to me, it has been too long, my love."

_Evey._ Evey had tried to touch these keys. His breathing increases as he remembers the girl-child touching his polished lady. The memory arouses him. He does not expect this visceral reaction. He narrows his eyes, brings six fingers down on the keys, C minor. His discomfiture does not abate. With jaw clenched he whips the C-minor into an arpeggio; then pounds the scales up and down up and down, until he can feel his arms ache. But still…instead of the expected alpha state, he discovers his mind in a place he does not want it to be. Evey. Her little face; her sad sad eyes. Those eyes. The scales reach a crescendo; he lifts his hands, almost exhausted. Her exquisite beauty, all innocence…he remembers how he found her. Soliciting a Fingerman. He lets his hands drop to the keys in a caress. The Fingermen. _Yes. The powerful will always destroy what is beautiful. They cannot understand how delicate it is, how fragile and fleeting. People destroy what they do not understand. _The mask tilts, the gallery above him spins into view. _Beauty. Art. Evey is another piece of art I have reclaimed_. He sighs, his fingers touch the first notes. _What will I play?_ He does not know. He never knows until he touches the keys. The piano will always speak to him; tell him what he is feeling. Light touches, small sounds: Other Eveys, other waifs, others not fortunate enough to cross his path. The children of London.

The notes begin to flow from his suede fingers, the soft leather, the unbreakable keys, _ah_. He breathes out deep and long as he recognizes Beethoven emerging from his fingertips. Sonata Pathetique. Second movement_. I will play for all the children of London, their mothers, their fathers, the notes poured out, he sways with the sound. I will play for all the prisoners, the unfortunates, those forced to work in the factories, live in barracks and serve cruel masters. I will play for those who have lost their loved ones, who have lost their lives, who have lost…lost almost everything_. He closed his eyes, merged with the music. _I play for Valerie_, swaying into the last note; _I always play the last note for her_.

_And why so much loss? Why? Is it inevitable? Must the helpless, the weak, beauty and truth always be victims? No. Not inevitable. What is missing? A catalyst. Catalyst. Yes._ He feels a wicked smiled stretch his face beneath the mask. He pounds out a new tune. This one lilting, rhythmic, ironic. A deep breath and he begins to sing, "In no longer pretty cities there are fingers in the kitties, there are warrants, forms, and chitties and a jackboot on the stair…" He finishes the song with a flourish. He feels better, but has not gone deep into alpha, has not spent time thinking. He needs something else. This is a different feeling. He pushes back the bench and lowers the cover, sits there too long.

_I want to touch her_. The mask tilts at the piano. _Not her. She looks less like a lover now, more like an instrument. Evey. I need to touch Evey. I need to touch something alive. Warm. Breathing. _

He moves his head until the mask brings his bedroom door into view. Swiftly, before he can think too hard about it, he comes off the bench, strides toward the door. A flick of his wrist, a metallic click, and she is there.

"Hello Evey. Would you like to dance?"

Vicious Cabaret, Part Two VPOV

Rated PG for adult themes

Which V?: Graphic Novel V. He would never wear a pinny.

Disclaimer: Characters property of Moore, Lloyd, and WB

V dislikes being probed.

She pushes the door all the way open, he knows that she did not want it closed. _Sorry, Evey, I needed to be alone_. She looks up at him with those big eyes. She is worried, anxious.

"Dance Evey?" he repeats.

"Yes, I would love to dance."

She takes his glove and he escorts her through the door into the Shadow Gallery. He spins her gently into his arms, touching her on the waist and holding her tiny hand in his big one. He moves her back and forth and she follows his lead easily and with youthful grace. He selects a waltz on the Wurlitzer. Weiner Blut. He moves her around the piano, she seems to be trying to dance too closely. _Doesn't she know she will trip if she gets between my feet?_ Evey stumbles; V lifts her back into the dance pattern without missing a beat. She _is so tiny, so light. I can lift her like a doll_. She trips. V stops the waltz, a finger silences the Wurlitzer. _She is upset_.

"What's wrong, Evey?"

He looks down at her, her little face upturned, eyes wide with anxiety. _What could be bothering her? Perhaps she doesn't like Strauss. No. Something else_.

"I'm sorry. I can't concentrate."

_Can't concentrate?_ He moves the mask to look at her closely. Her hands are trembling. _I have frightened her_. Remorse fills him.

"That's all right if you don't want to dance right now. Would you like some tea? Do you want to do something else? Watch the telly?"

"No. I want to dance. Maybe just something simpler."

"Simpler than a waltz?" _What could be simpler? Perhaps it is that the music is too sensual._ That is not his intention.

He takes her hand in his, the other hand presses the Wurlitzer's buttons. He selects a torch song from the 1940's. "My Heart Belongs to Daddy", another favorite sung by Julie London. He leads her around him with a gentle pull, just swaying in circles.

"Is this better?" he murmurs. The warmth of her slight body is electric to him. She is warm and alive. He soaks it up. It has been so long, he has forgotten what tender human contact feels like.

"Yes. This is fine. V?"

"Hmmm?"

"I….want to thank you for taking me in like you did."

"You've thanked me before." He squeezes her hand.

"I know, but not enough."

"Once is enough, Eve." What is bothering her? He tilts the mask so he can see her better.

"No. Everything is so different now. You've changed my life. Before, I was just existing. Not really living. But now. It's like I was asleep and you woke me up."

"Is that what it feels like to you?" He smiles tenderly, though he knows she cannot see him.

"Yes. Like I'm awake now."

"Hmmmm…I like your imagery. I think I like the idea of being the Awakener. Perhaps I shall awaken other sleepers." She is so good. So clever. He feels hope. _Maybe she will learn. Maybe she will grow to understand. This is promising. I will keep her, then._

"Who?"

He laughs. _Then again, maybe not. This truth-seeking isn't done overnight. Not usually anyway. It needs to unfold like a flower_. He feels softened by her presence, made tender by her words. Her anxiety has abated. _I will try to explain. Will she listen? _

_Is she just too young?_

"There are many who are asleep. Many are dreaming, not realizing they are sleeping. Some may wake up briefly; perhaps they look around and not like what they see then fall back into the safety of dreamland. But it is an illusion, Evey. I think many people would not welcome me as the disturber of their dreams. When awake and conscious they must now act, or make a decision not to act. Either way a painful event for some. There is nothing like a loud noise to disturb the sleep." He chuckles. I am planning the loudest noise of all.

"I see," she says. He hears the doubt in her words. _How can I help her to see?_

"Then tell me, Evey. What about those sleepers who refuse to awaken? Shall we let them lie? Shall we tiptoe past them?" he spins her, pulls her around into a waltz again as the music changes to Bella Bionda. "Or is it cruel to wake them when they would rather sleep their whole lives away?" Will she see what he is saying? Will she realize he must teach her to think for herself? To grow up now, if she would have the Gallery when he is gone? She hesitates. _Good. Think about this Evey. Commit to it. This is the most important question you will ever answer_.

"Yes. The sleepers must be awakened, even if they would rather sleep."

"Even if it seems cruel to destroy their happiness?" One more chance. Are you sure of your answer Evey?

"They only think they are happy. They aren't."

Hmmmmm. Her answer pleases him. He whirls her about him. This time she keeps her feet. He smiles under the mask. _She is ready. I can teach her. We have months to learn_.

He bends his head to look down at her, needing to see her smiling beauty. But something is wrong. There is a subtle change in her demeanor. _She is looking at me as though I am...No Evey. No. Oh no. _

She moves closer, pressing her breasts against his body. _Don't do this, Evey_. He is taken off guard, has to stop dancing or fall. She is hugging him, pressed to him, holding him. She slides one hand down the small of his back and lets it come to a rest on the curve just below his hips. _Oh god. She is squeezing my…Oh Evey, no_. Flashes of old memories inundate his vision, memories of other small hands touching him, his body responding, his trousers tightening, the fragrance of roses and the touch of soft music. Wine and chocolate. His heart swells with tiny fragments of old memories, the only kind he has left. Just the flash and the emotion. The flood is too deep, the pain intense. _Why is she doing this to me? Why didn't I see it coming? She is stabbing me. Oh._

He makes a strangling sound in his throat as he catches her wrists, pulls her hands from his buttocks.

The Wurlitzer clicks off.

Vicious Cabaret: Part Three—finis VPOV

Rated PG13 for pathos.

Which V: Graphic Novel V. Darker, twisted and deep deep deep

Disclaimer: Characters property of Moore, Lloyd, and WB

V's heart breaks

He pushes her away from him, then releases her wrists. He must get space between them. He must regain control.

"Oh, no. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please." She reaches for his hands, he lets her take them, still too stunned to respond. "Please don't be angry."

He breathes, calms himself, looks at her from all angles. _Is this what she thinks? That she must repay his kindness with her body? Is this what Norsefire has done to its children? _

She squeezes his hands. "I just thought…I didn't know it was wrong, I just thought, you might, you know…fancy me."

_Breathe, breathe_. He is amazed that he must consciously tell himself to breathe. This girl-woman, whom he imagined as his companion, his friend….she wants him as a lover? Wants him in a way he will never be able to…. This is not what he was expecting. Not what he planned. _This is not the way, Evey_.

He sees her eyes fill with tears. Now she is going to cry. He feels a foreign emotion. Doubt.

"I understand if there's someone else. If, you know, you have someone…I mean…"

_No, there is no one but you. Long ago, but that is a filmy memory of love and roses. Now there is no one but you._

"Or maybe, you don't like girls…Not that there's anything wrong with that." _No. It's not that. _

"Or maybe you can't…"

_Oh, Evey. It's more than that. I have lost you. You are gone. It is too much. You must go._

He whips his hands from hers and spins on his heel. He walks away, loudly. The sound of his boots on the flagstones gives him courage.

"V" she calls to him. "V, wait."

_I cannot answer. She will hear it in my voice_. He opens a drawer in the make-up table and comes right back to her, something small in his hand. He forces his voice to remain steady and even. "Come here. Evey. I want to show you something."

She sighs.

"V? maybe it's that you're my…"

_Don't go there, Evey. Stop. _But she does not stop. He sees it in her eyes as she looks up, her rosebud mouth opens as her jaw drops

"Father?" He whispers it so she won't have to say it.

"No, you can't be…are you?"

_This is worse than I thought. This is very bad_. A dull pain starts low in his chest, spreads steadily outward to every limb.

"Come with me, Evey." He can barely speak. He takes her little hand in his big one.

She allows him to tie the blindfold over her eyes. In the darkness she stumbles on the flagstones as he leads her away. They pass out of the grand gallery and onto a smaller passage, then into a lift. They are going up.

"V?"

He still cannot answer. The pain is too great. He will put her out. She has to go. But she will not be alone. _No. She belongs to me_. Everything he cares for is watched over. Already he is making plans for Fate to track her. Even now in his mind he is mapping out the tops of buildings where he will follow her. His many screens will see her every move. _She will only think she is alone. She will only think she is unprotected_. She will never be without him.

"V? I'm sorry if I made you mad. I…just was feeling, well, grateful I guess. I wanted you to know how I felt. I guess I should have done it differently, maybe just talked to you about it. Can you tell me where we are going? Is there another part of the Gallery? Does it have more art in it? More books? Maybe more music? Are you going to show me..."

He pulls his hand out the soft glove. His piano glove. _Gone now_. She will have this glove. He leaves her, fleeing from her little face, her warmth.

"V?"

"I am not your father, Evey. Your father is dead." He throws his voice down to her as he rides the lift to the roof. _Alone. Again_.

"Oh!" He can see her down below in the alley, a still, bright shape in the murk of London fog and drizzle.

"V? I'm going to take off the blindfold!"

_Good! Take it off, girl! Take it off! Learn to see. See the truth. Then come back to me_.

She takes it off. He watches as she looks around. He sees the little mouth open. _If you look up you will see me. _But she doesn't. He hears his name float up from far below.

"V?"

The plaintive little voice stabs him. He puts a naked hand over his heart where she has twisted the knife.


End file.
